


Sound and Silence

by KillThemWithCandy



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Overwatch, Cop Drama, Description of murder scenes, M/M, radio au, thirst at first sight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-12 16:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21479500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillThemWithCandy/pseuds/KillThemWithCandy
Summary: "In radio you have two tools; sound and silence." -Ira GlassWhen local radio station host Zenyatta is approached by Detective Genji Shimada, he was not expecting to learn that a serial killer had been taking his words of self-love and twisting them to justify their horrid killings. Can Zenyatta help Genji to prevent any more deaths?
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta
Comments: 19
Kudos: 96
Collections: Genyatta Big Bang 2019





	1. Chapter 1

When Zenyatta decided to visit a large city, he had no intention of staying long. He was a wanderer, going wherever the Iris willed him, speaking to anyone who would listen. He spent his nights sleeping in churches, not planting any roots because he would be moving on soon. However, a few nights became a week, and then two, and he had yet to feel the pull of the Iris to continue on as he always did.  
He finally understood when he was approached one day by a man after speaking with a group in a park. He’d introduced himself as the owner of a local radio station, explaining that he was looking for a radio personality to do exactly what Zenyatta was out here doing. 

That was six months ago. Now, Zenyatta has his own modest apartment and his voice reached the whole of the city every night. Every night he felt the Iris glow through him as he spoke over the air and though it wasn’t what he’d expected when he came here, he was happy. 

His apartment was simple but more than he’d ever needed. He owned the most clothes he’d had in his life, though his monk’s kasaya always sat tidily folded for if he ever felt the pull to leave. He had a small living room with a couch and television that he rarely used except for local news. There was also a bathroom and a kitchen that went largely untouched unless human guests came over, which was usually just the landlord. 

He kept a small briefcase that he took with him to and from work, filled with the letters his listeners sent him. He chose two every night to read on the air and respond to. His listeners were almost always kind and respectful, and those that weren’t were disregarded. He even had repeat callers, people willing to sit through the wait time to get on the show just to say hello and dedicate a song to someone. (He had a couple favorites, though he’d never admit it.)

After collecting up his things for work and his keys, he started his walk to the station. First, he had to greet the old woman who lived in the apartment next to him. She sat out on the terrace of the building in the rocking chair placed there just for her, knitting something new every day. She smiled up at him and he noticed she’d forgotten to put in her dentures again. He wished her a good day and she waved goodbye to him as he left. The sidewalk he followed was cracked and broken and even completely destroyed in places where tree roots had grown beneath it, and one of these trees held his next stop on his path.  
A stray cat sat in her usual perch and in her mouth was the small feathered ball he had bought for her when they first met. She dropped it as he approached, the bell inside jingling as it hit the ground. He picked it up by the feathers and tossed it down the path, watching her leap down from the tree to chase after it. She waited for him where it landed as he walked, watching with wide eyes as he approached and picked up the ball again to toss it further down. They continued like this the whole way to his bus stop. At the final toss, the cat took the toy in her mouth and ran off into the woods nearby, the ball jingling as she went.   
He waited at the bus stop, standing patiently under the awning so the sun wouldn’t overwork his cooling system. He didn’t watch the time, knowing the schedule well enough to trust that the bus would arrive only seconds after Geoff made it to the stop. Sure enough, the young man came running up just as the bus came into view. 

“Oh thank God, I made it.” Geoff panted, grinning at him, “Hey Zen, heading to the station?”

“I am. I trust you will listen?”

“Hell yeah, man!” The bus screeched to a halt before them and the doors opened. They stepped in, paying their fare, before taking their usual seats together, “I listen every night. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane when I’m studying.”

Zenyatta rested his briefcase on his lap, “I will be sure to play a song for you, then.”

Geoff grinned and they sat through the rest of the bus ride together in comfortable silence. Zenyatta watched the city go by in the window, watched people go about their lives, unfamiliar faces. He wondered, not for the first time, if he knew their voices. If they’d called him in the night to tell him their stories and get his advice or to send love to the ones they cared about. 

He thought on the two letters he’d decided on for his show, a first a story of a young girl struggling to leave home and then a tale of a young man unsure about his relationship. Both of them he knew what advice he’d give, but he had to word it right. People tended to heed his advice more if it seemed like he was giving them options, even if one option was happiness and the other pain. It brought him true joy to help others, to hear about their struggles and offer his help. It made his core flutter with joy when he heard back from those he had helped and learned that his advice had gone well for them. 

His stop arrived and he bid farewell to Geoff, who wished him well. The station wasn’t far from his stop, thankfully. He took his time, enjoying the evening sun and the colors it gave to the sky. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a call of his name. He sped up his steps to meet the young woman standing by her car in the parking lot of their station. 

Hana Song was his partner for the show. She worked the booth while he spoke and they’d grown quite close as friends. 

“How’s my favorite omnic doing today?” She grinned at him, taking her purse from out of her car as he approached, “Did you pick what letters to read?”

“I did.” He answered, “I’m quite certain I can help these two with the issues plaguing them.” 

“You always do. You could help the world if everyone just listened to you.” She said as they walked together, “Heck, you’ve even helped the most stubborn person I know.”

“Who might that be?”

“Me!” 

They shared a chuckle. This was Hana’s first job since her honorable discharge from the Korean military and when they had first met she was not the friendly person she was today. After all, she was discharged after only a year. They’d spoken little until one night she called him herself from her booth and talked to him. After he signed off for the night they’d gone to a diner and she told him all about her deployment and the mission she’d undertaken that got her discharged as a hero that no one had expected her to survive. Survivor’s guilt on top of PTSD from the run-in with death left her cold and angry and after so long of being a hero in her home country and the constant paparazzi she decided to move. They spent hours talking until the wait staff told them that the menu was changing for breakfast. 

After that they’d grown as friends, often spending time together outside of work. Hana was insistent on expanding Zenyatta’s wardrobe and almost everything he owned she had purchased for him. 

They came into the station and to the reception desk, clocking in on the computer since there was no one manning the desk. They took their name tags and headed further in. They passed the break room, popping in to say hello to the handful of people there. Fleur lifted her coffee mug in a hello, finishing up after the end of her show, Fleur’s Gossip Hour, which actually ran for three hours where she talked about recent events in celebrity gossip. With her was Eric, their night guard. He was a quiet man who gave them a small wave and a “Hey.” He had no interest in radio really, and just manned the front desk at night and made sure the building was locked up after everyone left while he listened to podcasts. He considered them both friends despite only knowing them from work. Hana came in and swiped a couple of the chocolate muffins sitting on the counter and they continued on to their booths. 

Zenyatta sat at his desk, laying his briefcase on it. He turned his equipment on and flicked the switch to connect to Hana’s booth. He looked up to the thick pane of glass between their booths and pressed their intercom button. 

“Tell me when you’re ready for checks.” 

She shot him a thumbs-up and continued working with her equipment. He turned back to his briefcase, opening it to take out the letters he’d brought. He’d memorized them already but it felt good to read from them on air. 

They ran through their checks, everything working perfectly. He gave Hana the songs he wanted to play after he gave his advice for the letters and they tested to make sure their signal was proper for him to request other songs from her over text. 

Finally, they flipped their On Air signs on and their intro music began. 

“Hello, my friends.” Zenyatta spoke, “Thank you for joining me for another beautiful night. Zenyatta is with you.”

The night went by beautifully. Zenyatta spoke with callers and laughed with their stories or advised them on their problems. He read his letters and advised the writers and one of them even called in later in the night to talk with him a little more about it. He could feel the Iris’ influence touching him as he spoke, just as he did every night, and it made him feel warm with love and joy.   
“I have had such a wonderful time with you tonight, my dear listeners. Midnight is approaching and with it comes my time to bid you goodnight. I look forward to hearing from you again tomorrow. Go and be at peace.” He signed off and cut his mic as Hana played his outro music. 

There was a moment of silence as Hana transferred everything over to the show that played after Zenyatta’s before she clicked their intercom on. 

“Alright, we’re off.” 

He sighed and laid back in his chair, “What a wonderful night. Such beautiful stories.”

Hana chuckled, “I got a text from Lena while we were on complaining that she couldn’t get through.”

He laughed, “I hope she tries again tomorrow. I always love hearing her silly dedications.”

They chatted as they gathered their things together before turning off their intercom and On Air signs and stepping out of their booths. They went to the break room together and sat as Hana slowly ate another muffin. 

“Do you know what letters you want to use tomorrow?” 

He nodded, “Yes, I’ve chosen a few days ahead. One of them is from our online page, a letter from an omnic asking about falling in love for the first time.” 

Hana laughed, “You love those stories. It’s so cute.”

His array brightened in a smile but didn’t respond. He didn’t tell her he envied these omnics, to find romantic love like they had. He loved so fully and with all his being, but he’d never felt that pull to anyone. He knew romantic love wasn’t something necessary for a happy life, but having settled out of his nomadic lifestyle had him craving domesticity like the kind his listeners had. To have someone waiting for him when he returned to his apartment, someone who loved him for him. Someone he could let himself fall into the arms of and hold at night, someone he could tell all the silly stories of his life before he came to the city, someone who’s fingers would fit between his own, who would kiss oh so sweetly....

”Zenyatta.”

He blinked out of his reverie, startled by a new voice. He looked up and saw Eric, the man who would close up after the late night shows were done, standing in the doorway. 

“There’s a police officer at reception asking for you.”

Hana stood quickly, “What?” She looked at Zenyatta and he could tell something was immediately on her mind, “Did they say why?”

“He refused to say, told me it was a private matter.”

Zenyatta nodded and stood, “I will meet him, thank you.”

He left the break room and towards reception, Hana on his heels, her steps heavier than usual. 

The man at the reception desk was.... stunning, to put it in a word. He had his hands in his pockets to hold back his coat and reveal the badge on his hip. When they stepped through the door he looked at them. 

“Tekhartha Zenyatta?” He asked. 

“That would be me, but it has been a long time since I held that title.” He answered, “Just Zenyatta is fine.”

The man nodded and showed his badge, “I’m Detective Genji Shimada. Can I speak with you in private?”


	2. Chapter 2

Zenyatta felt his core tighten with fear. A detective asking him to speak with him in private couldn’t be good news. A thousand terrible scenarios ran through his head and he had to forcibly shut that train of thought down or he’d work himself into a panic. 

Hana spoke first, “I don’t care what kind of private business you have with Zenyatta, I’m not leaving him alone with a police officer.” Her tone left no room for argument. 

The detective looked to her, “I understand your concern but this is a very private matter and can only be discussed with Mister Zenyatta.”

She shook her head, “Not happening. Either he has a witness with him or you can leave the premises.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Hana Song, his partner on the show and veteran of the Korean military. I know your type. You think you can waltz in wherever you want because you have a badge and accuse an innocent omnic of some random crime. That won’t fly here, bud, find another scapegoat or, and this might be a stretch, the real criminal, and leave before I call security.” She was bluffing, they didn’t have any security this late at night. They just had Eric, who was just a giant sweetheart who fed the stray cats nearby and listened to comedy podcasts while he closed the station for the night. 

It was still enough to startle the detective, his hands coming up in surrender, “No, that’s not- this isn’t about Mister Zenyatta committing a crime, this is about his safety. I really must speak with him in private, it is a very sensitive matter.”  
As they argued Zenyatta noticed Eric half-hiding in the doorway. Eric waved him over, looking nervous. Zenyatta looked back to Hana and the Detective and stepped away without really being noticed. 

“Is everything okay?” Were the first words out of Eric, clearly worried. 

“I do not know, my friend. The officer insists he must speak with me privately about my own safety, but I have learned to be wary of police officers.”

They both looked back at the detective. 

“At least he’s hot.”

Zenyatta let out a loud laugh, gently pushing at Eric’s shoulder. They laughed together for a moment before Eric took his keychain off his belt. 

“You mind locking up when you’re done? I’m already into overtime and my roommate texted me that I need to get home soon.”

“Oh, of course.” Zenyatta took the keychain, hooking it onto his own belt loops, “Go home. Hana and I will close the station.”

“You’re the best!” Eric grinned and hurried to clock out and gather his things from the front desk. 

Zenyatta turned and saw Hana and the detective both looking at him a little sheepish, probably because they hadn’t noticed him step away. Hana gave Eric a hug goodnight and Zenyatta went to the front door to wave as he headed towards where he’d parked his car. He then closed and locked the front doors. 

“We can use our audio booths to talk, Detective.” He said, “The booths are soundproofed but have a glass between them so Hana can watch us to be certain you have no ill-intentions.” 

“Oh.” Hana paused, “That’s actually a really good idea.” 

They shared a look for a moment, Zenyatta coming up to touch her shoulder, a silent affirmation. Neither of them trusted this stranger, so Hana would use their intercom to listen in to be certain he didn’t try anything. 

“This way, Detective.” 

They lead the detective through the station to their booths, Hana getting into hers and Zenyatta allowing the officer into his. He first set his briefcase in front of the intercom mic to block the light indicating that it was in use before looking up to see Hana give him a nod. 

“Alright, Detective Shimada, how can I help you?”

The detective shook his head, “Mister Zenyatta, there have recently been a string of murders that we at the station have been able to link to one killer. So far there have been three victims and notes left by the killer suggest there are more to come.”

“That is very upsetting, sir, but I fail to see how this involves me.”

The detective held up a hand, “Let me finish. The letters left at the scene are not the only ones. Each time we have received an anonymous letter at the station detailing the inspiration for the killing and clues as to where to find the body. After this most recent one we couldn’t ignore that your safety was in danger. This killer is obsessed with you, Mister Zenyatta; infatuated almost. Each of his letters recalls at least one thing you frequently say on your show and the most recent letter was frankly disturbing in how they described you.”

Zenyatta stared in horror. Someone was hurting other people because of his words? People were dying because of his words?

“How- how can you be sure it’s me?” 

The detective sighed, “Unfortunately, the killer has mentioned you by name, quoted your show, and described you physically in his notes. Our worry is that he implies he has a set number of deaths planned and we do not want you to be a victim.”

Zenyatta reached out, barely grasping at his chair and turning it so he could sit down, shaking. 

“Mister Zenyatta?”

People were dying because of his words. Someone was taking his messages of love and acceptance and using them to not only hurt other but to steal away lives. Three victims, three lives, who knows how many people were hurt by the loss of three souls? 

How could someone possibly find hate in his words?

He looked to the window, to Hana. He thought of what his death would do to her, how it could ruin her delicate recovery to find he had been killed. He thought of Eric, who he had grown to think of as a friend. He thought of his boss, who had sought him out to offer him the chance to speak of love to hundreds. He thought of home, of how his brothers and sisters would grieve for him, torn already as they were after Mondatta’s passing.

He couldn’t just stand by and let people die. He couldn’t let his words be twisted into something so terrible, be mangled into a reason to hurt others. He didn’t believe in passively letting things happen as they would, he had to do something. 

“How can I help?” 

The detective paused, seemingly surprised, “Sir, your life is at risk-“

“I’ve studied people my whole life to assess whether or not they were threats. I know my audience well, and I know I could be an invaluable resource to this investigation. I will not take no for an answer.”

Detective Shimada stared at him in shock for a moment before frowning, “You know this isn’t like TV and movies, right? You will be in real danger.”

“I am already in danger.” Zenyatta slapped his hand on his desk, “You have just made that clear, along with innocent people. Allow me the chance to show you I could be a source of invaluable information. I will come to the precinct at seven in the morning to speak with you and anyone else on this case.” He stood once again, feeling far more confident in himself. 

“Oh no you’re not!” Hana’s voice sang through the booth, “Zen, you’re gonna get yourself hurt! You can’t just decide you’re going to face a serial killer!”

“And why not?” He asked, “You forget, I am not just some random omnic who was hired for this job. I was a Tekhartha of the Shambali and it is my duty as a member of the Shambali and as a follower of the Iris to help any in need.”

“Zen.... some people are beyond help.”

He looked at the glass, “No one knows that more than I do, Hana, but help does not always mean spiritual.” He looked back at the detective, “The Iris called me here for a reason. I believe this is that reason. I will help you, Detective Shimada.” 

He didn’t leave room for argument in his tone, picking up his briefcase and switching off the On Air sign. He opened the door and stepped aside to offer to let Detective Shimada leave first, who followed him out, seemingly stunned into silence as Zenyatta’s insistence. Hana came out from her booth, full of fire, but Zenyatta stopped her with a hand lifted. 

“Hana.” He set down his briefcase and held out his hands, palms facing up, to her, “Your concern for me is heartwarming and that you have come to be such a good friend to me is something I will cherish forever.” 

She hesitated and placed her hands over his gently, tears starting to well in her eyes. 

“I have told you so many times about how the Iris guides me, how it instructs me to walk along paths even if I myself find those paths to be frightening, and I am very frightened now. That, however, will not stop me, nor will anything else. This is why I came here.” He turned their hands around so he could hold hers, clasping them together against his chest. He could see the fear in her face that he felt in his core, a knowledge that he may not survive this path he was determined to walk down. “My dear friend, I hope you can understand, this is something I need to do.”

She sniffled and pulled her hands away to instead wrap her arms around him in a hug, “You’re so fucking stupid. I swear if you get yourself killed I’m gonna come to the afterlife and kick your ass.”

He laughed brightly and hugged her back, “I expect no less. Now, come, I promised to lock up for Eric.”

The detective still seemed stunned as they gathered their things and left, locking the station behind them. Hana bid them goodnight, making Zenyatta promise to continuously message her or she would worry herself sick. They waited as she got into her car and drove away. 

Zenyatta then waited. He could feel the disquiet in the detective, and if he were not so in tune with the aura of discord and harmony, his rigid posture would give it away. Still, Zenyatta allowed him time to collect his thoughts before speaking. 

“You are the strangest person I believe I have ever met.” The detective finally said. 

Zenyatta chuckled, “Is that meant to be insult or compliment?”

The detective grinned, “If you are serious about consulting us on this case, I will be waiting at the station. I’ll leave a word in with the reception desk to have you brought to either me or my partner.” He finally turned and met Zenyatta’s gaze, eyes locking on optics, “I do not doubt your advice would be invaluable.”

Zenyatta nodded and watched as the detective got into his car and drove away. He walked home as he always did, along empty roads that seemed to have more shadows in them than usual. 

Being a pacifist monk, it was surprising how many times Zenyatta had been in police stations and their holding cells. It was refreshing to walk into a station without cuffs on his wrists. He stepped to the reception desk and the woman at the desk scrutinized him. 

“I am here at the request of Detective Shimada.” He told her. 

She pursed her lips and picked up the phone on her desk, not looking away as she dialed a number. A moment passed and a voice answered. 

“Hey, your omnic is here.”

Zenyatta heard the voice on the other end exclaim and say a few things before the woman hung up. 

“He’s waiting for you.” She gestured to the door behind her, “Through that door to the right and all the way at the end. He’ll be on the right.” She presses a button and the door swung open. 

“Thank you.” He nodded to her and did as instructed. The hallway he stepped into was long. To the left he heard only a couple voices and the sound of computer work. As he turned right he heard more jovial voices. He found the source as he passed by a kitchen to his right, a group of officers sitting in laughing together. He continued on past a garage and a few offices before reaching the very end and a door with a plaque with the names “Shimada” and “McCree” on it. 

He knocked against the door, finding it open, and stepped into the office. 

“Zenyatta!” Agent Shimada grinned as he came in, “Thank you so much for coming.” He stood from his desk and gestured for Zenyatta to come in, “Let me introduce you to my partner, Jesse McCree.”

The man in question was leaning on Detective Shimada’s desk, his arms crossed but a smile on his face. He was in the same uniform as Detective Shimada but with leather boots and a large Stetson on his head. 

“Nice to meet you.” He pushes himself off the desk and came to stand in front of Zenyatta, “You realize this won’t be some fun joyride, right? You’ll be a civilian consultant and could potentially put yourself in danger if the crook realizes you’re helping us.”

Zenyatta nodded, “I understand the risks of my actions, yes, but I understand the risks of my inaction more. If I help you, I may be putting myself at risk, but if I do not I will be guaranteeing other innocent people are hurt. If I do not help you, I will be turning away from a chance to help others and in doing so betray the vows I took not just to my brothers and sisters who walk with me along the path of the Iris, but to the Iris itself when it chose to allow me into its light. I will not abandon those who need me, even if it could cost me my life.“

McCree looked surprised and turned back to his partner. Detective Shimada just grinned wider. 

“I told you he was surprising.”

McCree chuckled and uncrossed his arm, holding out a hand, “Well, I sure hope you’ll help us nab this guy. It’s the weirdest case I’ve ever seen.”

Zenyatta shook his hand, nodding, “I’d like to see anything you’ve collected at the scenes and all the mentioned notes sent by the killer.” 

He looked around the room while the detectives pulled up the case files. It was a simple office, two L-shaped desks taking up most of the room. The first, which the detectives were working on, had a small plaque that read “Detective Genji Shimada” on it and a sticky note with a little green dragon drawn on stuck to the end. There were three photos on the desk, one of the two detectives, a skinny woman with red hair, and an older man with a beanie. The shot seemed candid, none of the subjects aware of the photo, speaking together. They were all in uniform, though the two unknown’s were slightly different. 

The second photo was of Detective Shimada, dressed down and posing with another man- they looked similar, the same nose and eyebrows, perhaps family of some sort?- his arm slung over the other’s shoulder. The other man seemed disgruntled, like he wasn’t ready for a picture, but smiling anyways. What caught Zenyatta’s eye, though, was that Detective Shimada was wearing a tank top in the picture and seemed to have some kind of discoloration to his skin on his entire right side. He subtly glanced to the detectives, who were whispering together, and sure enough there was a hint of scarring on his right hand, but nothing else was visible. 

The final picture was Detective Shimada in full formal uniform, posing with the same disgruntled man from the first photo, though they were both beaming now. They held a framed badge between them, tears in both of their eyes. Clearly this was Detective Shimada’s graduation with his superior officer and the relationship between them was strong.


	3. Chapter 3

Being a civilian consultant was a strange thing. The detectives, Shimada and McCree, were polite and listened carefully to everything he said. They were both incredibly smart, offering their own ideas and experiences to Zenyatta’s theories, giving unique perspectives Zenyatta wouldn’t have considered otherwise. 

Being invited to investigate the lives of the victims was something he wouldn’t have expected, but he accepted the offer anyways. 

Seeing the lives of who these people were before the tragedy of someone else’s anger taking their lives away from them. 

The first man was Jeremy Williams, a thirty-six year old banker. He lived alone, his nearest relatives being his parents who lived in an elderly community. The parents cried at the memory of hearing of their son’s murder and Zenyatta knelt down and mourned with them, turning his array off as they prayed aloud for his soul to find sanctuary in the afterlife. 

The second victim was Vincent Miguel, a forty-two year old who worked phone service for a home security company. His wife and daughter told them about him with tears in their eyes and the daughter had to excuse herself after a moment of talking about when he was found. 

The third was a forty year old man who had just celebrated his birthday with his son who was born the same day named Markus Jacobson. His son was his only surviving relative and struggled through telling them about his father, often pausing to take breaths to stifle his tears. 

They found only one real determining factor. None of the victims had any relation to the places they were found. Williams had never been to the restaurant he was found at, Miguel had never been to a strip club before at all, and Jacobson hadn’t been religious. Therefore, the perpetrator had to have known about these places, not followed the victims there. They communicated this to Detective McCree and scheduled a time to go speak with the owners of the establishments again. 

Detective Shimada insisted on driving Zenyatta home from work every night, as well. He quickly became friends with Eric, the pair bonding over their strange senses of humor and enjoyment of comedy podcasts. Every night, Hana and Zenyatta found the pair hanging out at the front desk with headphones in, laughing over the same joke. 

“It’s a fantastic podcast!” Detective Shimada laughed as he took Zenyatta home, “I can’t believe I’ve never heard of it before.”

“You know, podcasts might kill radio.” Zenyatta sighed dramatically, “I see another listener has been lost to the appeal of pre-recorded entertainment.” 

Detective Shimada paused, “Well.... then I guess I’ll just have to tune into your show every night, too! I’ll get Jesse to listen to it too, that way you get two for the price of one.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head and looked over at the detective, “And what is the price of one?”

His array brightened as a blush spread across the detective’s face, a small sputter escaping his lips. He teased Detective Shimada about it the while way back, laughing whenever he grew flustered. They came up to Zenyatta’s apartment complex and the Detective still hadn’t come up with an answer, instead parking and reaching over Zenyatta to open his door and playfully push at his shoulder. 

“Get out of my car if you’re just going to make fun of me. See if I drive you home ever again.”

Zenyatta laughed and unbuckled himself, “You know you will because you’re concerned for my wellbeing and you like me.” He stepped out of the car and leaned in the doorway, “Have a good night, Detective. Be safe on your way home.”

“Call me Genji, Zenyatta.”

His core warmed and his array stuttered a moment, “Ah. Yes, of course. Genji. Have a good night, Genji.”

He closed the door and waved goodbye as the detective- no. As Genji drove away. He stood in the parking lot until he couldn’t see the car anymore, sighing to himself. 

“I know that sigh anywhere.”

He nearly jumped out of his chassis at the voice, turning around to see his neighbor sitting in her chair on the porch. He quickly hurried to her side, taking her hand. 

“Mrs. Brigwald!” He carefully helped her to her feet, “What are you doing outside? It’s past midnight, you should be in bed.”

She slapped his hands away, huffing, “I kept hearing you come home with this new young man. I decided that if anyone is going to be dating my dear neighbor then I had to see them!” She grinned wide and wiggled her eyebrows, “He’s a rather handsome one.”

He shook his head, “We can discuss this inside. Do you have your key?”

“Yes, yes.” She smacked his hands again as he reached to help her and started making her way inside. Zenyatta went ahead, calling down the elevator so it was open when she came to it and pressed the button for their floor. 

“Can we talk about your boyfriend now, dearie?” 

Zenyatta sighed and rubbed the back of his head, “He is not my boyfriend, Mrs. Brigwald. He is a friend.”

She tutted, shaking her head, “Friends don’t sigh like that about friends.” The elevator dinged and opened to their floor, “Come, we haven’t had tea together in a while.”

“Mrs. Brigwald, you should be getting to bed.”

“Pah.” She scoffed, “I sleep all day, I can sleep more when I die. I want tea.”

He followed her to her apartment, then to the kitchen. It was just as it had been last time he was here, decorated elaborately with strange trinkets and colorful things he never would’ve understood if he hadn’t heard the story of each piece at least three times. 

He took the teapot as she sorted through the teas, filling it with water and setting it on the stove to boil. 

“Tell me about your new friend.” 

He hesitated. What could he tell her? That he was a detective trying to solve a case of someone twisting Zenyatta’s own words into a muse of death? That Zenyatta was helping him solve the case? He didn’t want her involved and if the killer decided to come for her....

“He is simply that.”

He would never forgive himself if someone came for his sweet neighbor because he’d told her too much. 

She hummed and set a couple teabags aside, placing the rest back in their place in her pantry. 

“I am old, my dear friend. I have lived long enough to know when someone is lying to me.” She turned and smiled at him, “But, if you don’t want to talk about it then we don’t have to.”

They stood together in silence as Zenyatta went about preparing the tea. Having done this many times, he knew just how Mrs. Brigwald liked her tea. 

“You know, I met my wife when I was about your age.”

He paused and looked at the woman, “Oh? And what age is that?”

She looked back at him, almost surprised to remember she was talking to an omnic, “Oh, dear, I always forget! You’re much younger than you seem, aren’t you?”

He nodded, “I am only nineteen right now, soon to be twenty.” 

She laughed quietly, “Well, then I was older than you when I met my Tia. I was in college, struggling with midterms, when I saw the most beautiful woman to ever walk the planet.” 

By now, Zenyatta knew this story by heart. How Mrs. Brigwald had chased after her late wife, Tiana, and made quite the fool of herself pushing through a crowd to catch a woman without even knowing what to say. He knew about how Tiana had immediately understood and had arranged for them to meet in the cafeteria for dinner. He knew about every date they had gone on until the day they were married and every one after, and he knew every detail of the day Tiana passed. 

He thought of the families he’d met, of Jeremy Williams’ parents, Vincent Miguel’s wife and daughter, Markus Jacobson’s son, how they cried so differently from Mrs. Brigwald when recounting the deaths. She had had years to grieve, she had come to terms with the loss of her wife. These people had had their loved ones ripped from them suddenly. Their son, their husband, their father was taken from them by someone who took the words of self-love and twisted them into motivation to kill. 

_ To feel the wealth of my deeds deep into my skin, to paint an image of beauty, to redeem myself with the blood I shed, it gives me purpose again.  _ The killer wrote in his letter about Jacobson,  _ I was filth before I bathed in the light of harmony, but now I cleanse myself of imperfections with the blood of these poor souls.  _

Zenyatta looked down at Mrs. Brigwald, still regaling her tale of meeting her wife, and thought of the detectives, the fear in their eyes whenever he left their company. He knew they feared for his safety. He saw the same fear in Hana. 

He thought of the cat he played with on his way to the bus stop. She was carefree, too young to care for finding a mate to have kittens with. He wondered what she did when he was not there, if she had a line of cats hoping to win her affections for when she did decide to have kittens. 

He wondered if she would let him meet them. 

_ The filth of sin will cleanse my skin, redeem my heart, will give me purpose again.  _ How could someone find this motivation in his words?

“Zenyatta?”

He came back to the present and jumped as the kettle’s whistle came to life. He pulled it off the heat and started to pour, steeping the teabag. 

“You have something on your mind.”

He sighed, “I do. It has been long since something has troubled me so greatly.”

“Do you want to meditate on it?”

He looked to her, surprised. She’d never made such an offer to him before. 

“You are a monk, yes? A member of the Shambali. I’m sure if you meditate on your troubles, your Iris will help guide you.”

He chuckled and added sugar to the tea, “That sounds like exactly what I need. Would you be so kind as to lend me your living room?”

“Of course, dear. Do tell me what conclusion you come to.”

They moved to the living room, Mrs. Brigwald taking her spot in her chair, her tea sitting beside her and a magazine in her lap. She would forget about the tea while reading and it would get cold before she remembered it again. 

Zenyatta pulled off his coat, laying it over the arm of the couch, and then removed his shirt. Mrs. Brigwald whistled at him as he walked past her to the center of the room. He sat on the floor, crossing his legs, and for the first time in a long time, activated his antigrav modules. He heard Mrs. Brigwald gasp as he hovered, placing his hands on his knees, turning his array off and closing himself off to the outside world. 

Everything faded and he came to a place of comfort he had nearly forgotten about. 

He didn’t know how much time passed before he began to feel the golden light of the Iris gently touch his soul, but once it did he couldn’t move away. He let it wrap around him, consuming him entirely, a comforting embrace he had felt so many times before. 

The pull was so much stronger than he had felt in a long time. He could feel the presence of his brothers and sisters, all of them calling out to him in joy. Their love embraced him, surrounded him so completely he felt as though he could drown in its depths. 

A feeling pulled him from out of those depths, something warmer. He followed that light, knowing it’s familiar guiding touch. The Iris lead him down the path he needed. 

He was a butterfly. Bright blue and fluttering around with many of his kind. He landed on a flower top an overgrown grove, looking down at the garden below him. Discordant colors blotted the scenery, trails of sickly purple bleeding into the dirt along a path leading to a figure, a man. Discord colored his whole form, outlining his body with its darkness. He knelt down, taking something from the ground before him, and suddenly his mind erupted in Harmony, golden light mixing with the Discordant purple, painting the figure with their hues. 

And it clicked. 

The Iris wrapped around him again as he took flight, fluttering away from the scene until he onlined his optics. 

Mrs. Brigwald was smiling at him.

“You glow golden when you find peace.” She said. 

He let himself down to the floor but didn’t stand, reveling in the warmth of touching the Iris after so long. He could still feel the love of his brothers and sisters coursing through him, his circuits singing with joy at being reunited with them. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

He nodded, relaxing, “Yes. Thank you, Mira.”

She set her magazine down and stood, holding her hands out to him to help him to his feet. He took them, slowly raising. 

“Would you like me to reheat your tea?”

She nodded with a chuckle, “Yes, please.”

He took the cup back into the kitchen, moving slowly so she could stay at pace with him. She was a comforting presence and he was glad that she had been there for him, not just in this moment but since he had moved in. 

“So....” she leaned against her counter and looked up at him, “What happened?”

He paused a moment, thinking on what the Iris had shown him and what he could tell her. 

Finally, he said, “I dreamt I was a butterfly.”

They said no more as he reheated her tea. She drank it silently and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze as a goodnight. She waved as he left and returned to his apartment for the night. 

He looked at his home, scarcely decorated, a mirror in layout to Mrs. Brigwald’s own, and considered if he should invite Genji over some time. 

He went to his kitchen, knowing it was empty of anything but a couple of teas, a single cup, and a kettle. However, it would be easy to purchase a few things to accommodate a human guest. A plate or two, some silverware, plus ingredients for his momos and perhaps even butter tea. 

Wait, did his stovetop even work? He hadn’t touched it in his six months living here, he should check that. 

As he started up one of the top burners, his phone rang. He answered it as the burner came to life, immediately growing warm. 

“Hello, this is Zenyatta.”

_ “Zen, hey, it’s Genji.” _

“Detective, how wonderful! I was just thinking about you.”

There was a moment’s pause on the other line,  _ “I- you think about me?” _

“Often. How can I help you tonight?”

_ “Right. Listen.... there’s another victim. It just got called in, I’m on my way now. Do you want to join?” _

He flicked off the stove and quickly left toward his bedroom, “Yes. I have sufficient battery to last another day, if you wouldn’t mind coming by my apartment complex to retrieve me I would be grateful.” He took off his clothes to change into a new set. 

_ “Dress warm, it’s gonna be chilly tonight.” _

He grabbed a sweater and pulled it on over his shirt, “Of course. I will meet you in the parking lot.”

_ “I’ll be there soon. Thank you, Zenyatta.” _

The line went dead.


	4. Chapter 4

Zenyatta stepped out of Genji’s car to see an old butterfly sanctuary, long run down and falling apart. Red and blue lights shone over the outside as officers arrived to assess the scene. 

He walked with Detective Shimada inside, holding his arms to his chest to attempt to alleviate his anxiety. Immediately inside was an overgrown garden, the gravel paths torn with roots and weeds, little garden gnomes and statue fairies peeking through the underbrush. They followed the path to round a corner, stopping outside the crime scene as the forensic photographers finished mapping the scene. 

Physically, the victim looked nearly identical to those before him. Overweight, brown hair, pale skin, around his early forties. His arms were lifted above his head, his shirt sleeves removed to expose his arms. All down his arms were small cuts, though from a distance Zenyatta couldn’t determine more. 

“Bunch of kids were coming to do some vandalizing when they found the guy.” Detective McCree’s voice came from behind them, “The guy can’t have been here long, but there’s no type of surveillance along this road. Kids didn’t see any cars but their own.” 

Detective Shimada nodded, “Guy looks the same as the others. There’s something up with his arms, can’t tell from here.”

They stood in silence, waiting. Zenyatta clenched his hands around his arms, unable to tear his optics from the sight of the poor victim. 

A weight fell on his shoulders and he looked up, seeing McCree’s smiling face. He wrapped his serape around Zenyatta’s shoulders, pulling it to make a little hood to protect him from the cold. 

“Gotta keep our consultant toasty.” 

Zenyatta chuckled, holding onto the fabric, “Thank you.” 

“It’s okay if you want to leave.” Shimada told him, “Seeing a corpse in person is different than in a photo or holovid. No one is going to judge you.”

He shook his head, “I’m here to help.”

He didn’t mention the vision the Iris had given him back in Mrs. Brigwald’s apartment. He didn’t mention that he had seen this place there, in the eye of the Iris. 

He did, however, notice that none of the butterflies seemed to want to come near the crime scene. Some would come close but at a certain point they would fly away. He pointed this out to the detectives. 

“Maybe they just don’t like corpses.” McCree shrugged. 

“All insects like corpses.” Zenyatta said, “Decay provides nutrients for young, enriches soil, and encourages rebirth. There is something keeping them away.” 

The photographers started packing their things and called for everyone else to come onto the scene. 

Shimada immediately went to the body, kneeling down next to it to look at the arms, pulling a pair of gloves from his pocket. Zenyatta came up behind him, looking over the scene. 

“Smell that?” Shimada asked. 

Zenyatta paused, “Oh, I do not have that capability.”

Shimada turned back to him, eyes wide, “Wait, really? That doesn’t come, like.... default?”

He nodded, “For some it does. Not me. What do you smell?”

“It’s almost like garlic.” Shimada turned back to the body, “The arms are covered in mites, they’re crawling under the small incisions in the skin. I’m willing to bet the killer put cuts of garlic under the skin to encourage the mites and drive away the butterflies.”

“Butterflies don’t like garlic?”

Shimada stood and smiled, “They hate it. My brother sprays garlic water on his garden to keep the butterflies away so they don’t eat the plants, but garlic also attracts mites.” 

“Those look like heroin scars.” McCree commented, “Ex-druggie?”

“Possibly. Any notes, Zen?”

Zenyatta pointed up towards the victim’s hand, “There’s a piece of paper crumbled in his hand.”

McCree carefully stepped closer, gently taking the paper from the victim’s hand and unfolding it as he came back, dusting off some of the mites from it. 

“Another note.” He held up the paper. 

Zenyatta reached out, gently taking it from him to read the sloppy writing aloud. 

“My dearest detectives, I have seen-“ his voice caught a moment, “I have seen the Iris and felt it’s warmth. The golden glow fills my soul and I now understand what Tekhartha Zenyatta means when he speaks of its loving embrace. The Iris will forgive me for what I have done here. We draw to the end of this game and soon I will rid myself of hate and embrace love.”

Zenyatta locked his wrists so he didn’t tear the page, his optics scanning the page over and over until he could see Discordant purple along the edges of his vision. 

“Zenyatta? What is the Iris?”

He folded the page back up and looked away from it, “The Iris is the center of the Shambali’s teachings, a benevolent and all-seeing guiding light that speaks through us. Those who have touched upon its light can see through its light to see the path it has set for them.” He handed the paper back to McCree, “I am one of two who have mastered touching upon the Iris’ light, the other being my master and brother, Tekhartha Mondatta.”

McCree grumbled, “Great, another asshole trying to be a prophet of a religion they know nothing about.”

“Wait, so that makes you.... like, a saint?” Shimada asked, “Or like a Pope?”

Zenyatta shook his head, “When my brother was killed I left the monastery and gave up my title. I am just another wandering monk.”

McCree squatted down, looking at the victim, “So, your Iris tell you anything about this case?”

“Don’t be an asshole, Jesse.”

Zenyatta looked away, off to a cluster of wildflowers. A small swarm of butterflies sat atop, drinking their nectar, and from the group rose up a single large swallowtail. 

“The Iris speaks in mysterious ways.” He said, stepping away, watching the butterfly circle around the group before fluttering off. He followed, leaving the detectives confusedly watching after him. He carefully stepped around the patches of flowers, trying not to disturb the butterflies fluttering around. He used his antigrav modules to help him jump over plants too overgrown as he followed the golden butterfly before reaching a broken part of the sanctuary the glass of the building’s former walls long shattered and the shards buried under the plants covering the ground. He still stepped carefully, letting his full weight fall as the butterfly landed on a flower just outside the shattered wall. 

He waited. 

A moment longer. 

He watched the butterfly, resting atop its new perch. 

He was so certain it had been a sign, so sure the Iris had been calling to him. 

“Zen? Jeez, how the hell did you- oh, there’s a path here.” He heard Shimada from behind him but didn’t let it pull his attention. 

There had to be something here, something important. 

“What’d you run off for?” Shimada was next to him now, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder, “Are you okay?” He looked out at where Zenyatta was staring and they stood in silence for a moment before the detective turned to yell behind them, “Zenyatta found something! Tire tracks!” 

Zenyatta paused, looking away from the butterfly and to the earth and, sure enough, embedded in the ground were tracks where car tires had recently been. 

“Oh my gosh, Zen, this is great!” Shimada grinned at him, “Not a lot of vehicles have a manual tire mode anymore, this could break the case!”

The butterfly took off, fluttering back into the sanctuary as Genji called for forensics to come to the scene, pointing out the path cut in the overgrowth. 

Zenyatta watched as the officers gathered, fawning over evidence overlooked by the overgrowth and distance. 

“Looks like it’s about to rain, too.” McCree mentioned, “Would’ve wiped these tracks right away. Good work, Zen. Maybe we should get you officially trained.” He winked and gave Zenyatta a pat on the back. 

Zenyatta shook his head, “Oh, no, I much prefer my profession as is. Far less guns involved in radio.”

The three stepped away as forensics worked on documenting the area, fighting the elements as rain clouds began to grow darker above them, mottling the already dark night sky. 

They retreated back into the sanctuary, watching as the body was loaded up to be taken to the morgue for further examination. They stood in silence together, Zenyatta clutching McCree’s serape around him. 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve pumped enough caffeine into my system that the vaguest notion of sleep is a far-off dream.” McCree smirked, “Wanna go get some food?”

“Absolutely.” Shimada nodded, “Will you join us, Zen?”

“I would be glad to.”

They ended up at Detective Shimada’s home since everywhere to eat was closed. He slipped out of his coat and Zenyatta caught a hint of how casual the detectives were with each other, McCree pulling off his boots and hat and taking a seat on the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table. 

Shimada went through a doorway and a glance that way showed it went through a dining room to a small kitchen where he was brewing some coffee. 

Zenyatta went and sat down next to McCree, who made room for him with a smile and tilted an imaginary hat in greeting. They waited in comfortable silence until Shimada returned with two large mugs of coffee. He took a seat at a recliner nearby and kicked McCree’s legs off the table before offering him a cup. 

“Alright, another hit, another note.” McCree immediately got to business, “This guy thinks he’s some prophet of the Shambali or something, that he-“

“No.” Zenyatta interrupted, “He believes that he is purging himself of that which he hates about himself.” He picked up Shimada’s briefcase and pulled out a holopad, pulling up the records of the killer’s notes, “He always speaks of cleansing, of purifying, of purging himself of hate. He talks about embracing the Iris and following my teachings, but my teaching have always been about love. Loving yourself, in particular. Our perpetrator isn’t picking his victims for their availability or having hurt him before, they are being picked because they remind the killer of himself.” 

He pulled up pictures of all the victims, including the newest, displaying them side-by-side. The resemblance was uncanny, each man an almost perfect mirror of the other. 

“What is the likelihood of finding these four men randomly on the street?” Zenyatta asked, “Don’t answer, it is astronomically small. The killer is specifically looking for men like this.”

Shimada paused, “This is our guy.” He looked from McCree to Zenyatta, “The perp is attacking men who look like him. He’s using these men to kill himself.”

“Alright, so what do we do, run a database on the city’s population for white, overweight, middle-aged men?” McCree rubbed his face, “We can’t possibly interview every person who looks like that before they strike again.”

“Perhaps.” Zenyatta said, “But the amount of people who own vehicles with a manual tire mode will greatly reduce that number.” He set down the tablet on the table, “We will simply have to wait for your team to process the crime scene.”

McCree leaned back, taking a long drink from his mug, “Well, I guess we just have to wait.”

Shimada sighed, “I hate waiting. Every moment we wait is a moment the killer has to get away or hurt someone else.”

“Be at peace, my friend.” Zenyatta told him, “We cannot change the actions of others, nor the speed at which things work. Fretting over them will serve no purpose but to stress you out, and stress will only serve to make your body work against you.”

Shimada groaned and collapsed back into his chair, loosening his tie and undoing a couple buttons from his shirt to get relaxed. McCree kicked his feet back up onto the coffee table and Shimada glared at his socked feet. 

“I will cut your feet off.”

McCree just wiggled his toes in mockery. 

“I’m a cop, I can make sure no one ever finds your body.”

“You like me too much for that.” McCree answered, “Plus, now you have a witness.”

Shimada looked from McCree’s feet to Zenyatta, pouting, “You’ll defend me, won’t you, Zen? He’s putting his filthy feet on my clean table. I’m already a disaster of a person, it’s so hard keeping my house clean, and he’s purposefully making it unclean.”

Zenyatta hummed, thinking a moment. 

“May I keep this?” He asked, gesturing to the serape still wrapped around his shoulders. 

“Yes.”

“Then I will say nothing.”

McCree gasped, a hand jolting his his chest dramatically, “How could you? I thought what we had was special, Zenny.” He faked a sob. 

Zenyatta shook his head, “No, I have just been using you for the chance to steal your serape. I am a thief monk, using my innocent looks to take what I want.” 

“Truly evil.” Shimada chuckled, sinking further into his chair, his arms dangling over the arms of it, “What with the eyeball think?”

Zenyatta paused, unsure of what the detective was saying. A moment of silence passed and he watched the relaxed face of Shimada distort into one of confusion, staring at the ceiling as though it had told him a riddle. He pursed his lips, smacking them a couple times, and wiggled his fingers before snapping suddenly and point at Zenyatta. 

“The Iris! What would the Iris think?”

Another moment silence. McCree sat up a little, looking at Zenyatta for a reaction. 

“Did.... did you just call the Iris.... ‘the eyeball’?” He asked slowly. 

Shimada sat up, now looking worried, “Um.... I did. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything I just-“

He was interrupted by laughter. Bright laughter, like the tinkling of bells, as Zenyatta clutched his midsection and threw his head back. His feet kicked slightly as he laughed, his array brightening. His joy was infectious, McCree soon joining in, his shoulders shaking as he watched Zenyatta laugh. 

When the fit passed, Zenyatta’s processors whirred as he started to calm down. He looked back at Shimada and was startled by what he saw. 

He’d seen the look before, never on someone looking at him, though. Complete awe, joyful admiration, and pure love. 

He couldn’t help but stare, watch the smile on Shimada’s face soften but never leave, the way he relaxed. He saved the memory, filed it away safely to recall easily. He never wanted to forget that look. 

Eventually, McCree went home. Shimada offered to take Zenyatta back to his apartment, but instead he asked to be taken to the shopping district. 

“I have been wanting to get back into cooking.” Zenyatta told him, “I have been alone for too long, I find myself craving the joy of cooking for others.”

“I’d love to try something of yours sometime.” Shimada grinned and he had that saw lovelorn look in his eyes. The parted ways and it took a little while for the warmth him his core to fade. 

He walked to the supermarket, passing by unfamiliar faces. While this usually brought him comfort, the nostalgic feeling of being on the road, it now filled him with fear.

Any one of these people could be the killer. 

He found himself searching out faces like the victims, frightened by anyone who resembled one or even stepped too close to him. Could the killer have a partner? Someone who scoped things out for him, finding the victims and locations. Were the cameras working in this store? Would this be the next location for the killer? Could the killer be any of the employees, the managers, the vendors, those who stayed out of sight and observed? 

A human bumped into him and he moved away quickly, his core tightening with fear as he saw her lips moving, saying something he couldn’t really hear. 

He left the supermarket without buying anything. 

He went to a nearby omnic cafe, finding comfort in the company of other omnics. The killer has been confirmed as human, he was safe among his own kind. He paid for a charging seat and hooked himself up, trying to relax. 

He considered calling Detective Shimada. The thought of having him near again was a comfort in itself, just as it was that morning. He forced himself not to think of the poor victim, focusing on the memory of Detective Shimada’s- of Genji’s face. The way his brow furrowed as he looked at the scene, the way he slumped dramatically in his chair while casually threatening McCree, the look on his face....

“Zenyatta?”

He looked up and joy swelled in his chest. 

“Eric!” He stood, wrapping his arms around his friend, “What are you doing here?”

Eric grinned. The night guard, to Zenyatta’s knowledge, wasn’t much of a people-person and preferred the solace of sitting alone. 

“I come here often. I know the couple who owns this place. Omnics don’t usually talk to humans in places like these so it’s a good place to sit and get some peace. I’m really the only human patron.”

Zenyatta laughed, “How wonderful.”

Eric took Zenyatta’s hand, “I saw you come in, you seemed a bit frantic. Are you okay?” True concern shown in his eyes warmed Zenyatta’s core. 

“Yes, my friend, I am okay.” He squeezed Eric’s hand, “Thank you.”

They sat together, enjoying comfortable silence. Occasionally, one of them would say something casual with no expectation for a response, just enjoying company. Eventually, Eric asked Zenyatta what he was doing in the area and then offered to join him while he did his shopping. The conversation picked up, Eric talking with him excitedly about recipes and offering to share, in exchange for details about the hot detective. 

“He never stops talking about you.” Eric told him, “If it’s not about whatever we’re listening to that night, he’s always talking about you.”

Zenyatta hesitated, “Really?” He looked at the bag of flour in his hands, “What.... what does he say?”

Eric grinned, “He’s absolutely nuts for you, Zen. I can’t believe you aren’t already together with how he goes on about you, constantly talking about how smart you are, how helpful you are, how kind and amazing and beautiful and incredible you are.” He laughed and turned into the produce section, “It’s adorable.”

Zenyatta stared at the vegetables, trying to process what he was hearing. 

Genji talked about him. Fawned over him, even. His processors whirred at the thought. That fact coupled with the look Genji gave him.... 

“Hey, what kind of tofu do you need?” Eric asked. 

Zenyatta put a hand to his face, feeling his own temperature. Genji truly had feeling for him. Romantic feelings! 

“Zen?”

He would ask Genji to go on a date once they solved this case.

Eric waved a package of tofu in his face, grinning, “Stop daydreaming about your boyfriend, we’re trying to shop for him.”

Zenyatta laughed and snagged one of the packages from Eric’s hands, “He’s not my boyfriend. Yet.”


	5. Chapter 5

_ “Report just came back. One major suspect. Want details?” _ McCree’s text came in as Zenyatta tossed out his first batch of ruined momos. He responded a confirmation and continued getting ready for his shift. The response came a few minutes later. 

_ “Only a handful of people in town with tired cars. One came up match for your theory. Bradley Garrett. Has a plane ticket to skip town in a couple days. Want to join to meet him tomorrow around 1400?” _

He replied with another affirmative, taking up his briefcase and setting his letters inside it to read for the night. 

_ “Genji said ‘It’s a date.’ ;)”  _

He chuckled quietly to himself, warmth spreading through his chest. 

He slipped a jacket over his shoulders and stepped out of his apartment, locking the door behind him. He took the stairs down and gave a wave to Mrs. Brigwald as he went, who was knitting something in her chair. 

His walk was quiet, as usual. He didn’t receive any more messages and had a moment to think on the advice he would give to his writers. The first was a young girl who sent in an adorable handwritten letter asking about a crush she had at school. He’d fallen so in love with the letter he’d even shown it to the detectives who demanded he talk about it on his show. The other was about learning to grieve and how to continue on knowing that someone they loved had passed away. This one was much harder, going into the stages of grief, how to continue not just after you’ve grieved, but during. Settling affairs, going on with life, with work, with family and friends. 

He pulled himself from his thoughts when he heard a small bell. He looked at the tree that had destroyed the sidewalk he treaded, his little cat friend sitting at her usual spot, toy in mouth. She dropped it and crouched down, watching the ball with wide eyes. He happily took and tossed it down the path, watching as she chased after it. They played their game together, him tossing the ball, her running and catching it to bring back to him. They continued down the path to the bus stop and the cat stopped at the stop, toy in her mouth. This is where they would part ways. 

Except she waited. He came closer and sat down at the stop and she stayed, dropping the toy at his feet and curling up behind them, hidden from view. 

Geoff came running up and Zen held his hands up, trying to prompt him to be quiet. He got the hint and slowly snuck up, carefully sitting down. 

“What’s up?” He whispered. 

Zenyatta pointed down and moved his feet so Geoff could see the cat. 

Geoff’s eyes lit up and he grinned wide, giving Zenyatta a thumb’s up. 

“You’re on time today.” Zenyatta said, keeping his voice down. 

Geoff nodded, “Yeah, my girlfriend sets alarms and reminds me to get headed out on time now.” 

“You have a girlfriend?” 

“Yeah!” He gasped and looked down, making sure his exclamation hadn’t disturbed the cat, “She actually called into your show to ask about me. You told her that honesty is always best and that to hide her feelings was-“

“A betrayal of her heart.” Zenyatta finished, “I remember that call. That’s so sweet. She perfectly described you, I can’t believe I didn’t realize it was you she meant.”

They sat together, waiting patiently for the bus. Underneath them the cat finally got bored and took her toy in her mouth, rubbing herself against Zenyatta’s legs before taking off into the woods. They cooed over her together as the bus approached and Geoff even sat with Zenyatta during the ride, the pair of them looking up the process required for adopting a stray. 

The bus came to Zenyatta’s stop and he thought about the cat on his way to work, about his apartment’s lease and if the landlord would allow him to own a cat. He wondered about cat food and litter and toys. 

Did Genji like cats? Did he have any pets already? 

He imagined Genji sitting in that plush chair he’d been in at his house, that wonderful look on his face, the cat curled up on his lap. They looked like the picture of perfection, like everything he could hope for. 

“I swear if you moon over Detective Shimada again tonight on air I’m going to barf.”

He chuckled, looking at Hana where she was waiting for him by her car. 

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.” He said. 

“Bullshit. You’re a monk, I thought you weren’t supposed to lie.” She poked his arm as he passed her by and joined in step with him, “Seriously, though, you should totally ask him out.”

“I plan on it.” He told her, “As soon as this case is finished and the perpetrator is in police custody, I will tell Genji of my feelings for him.”

She yelled in joy and hugged him before they came into the building. 

Eric greeted them at the desk, signing them in for the night. 

“I’ll be able to stay as late as you need tonight.” He promised.

They made their way to their booths, settling in and getting their things together. They ran their tests quickly, Zenyatta texting Hana a couple songs he wanted to start the night with before they opened the phone lines. The On Air signs came on and Hana started up their intro music. 

“Once again we meet to keep each other company. Thank you for joining me. Zenyatta is with you.”

The night went beautifully. Lena managed to call in and gave a lovely dedication to her girlfriend, waxing poetic about how happy she was with her. 

He spoke to the child who wrote in about the schoolyard crush and he told them about offering little gifts, about sharing a seat at lunchtime, about holding hands and cheek kisses. He also gave his advice about making sure to do schoolwork as well, not to let this young love get in the way of their education, that the two can be balanced, and he signed off with one of the new love songs that a pop artist had released. 

He read the letter about a loved one having passed on, about grief and feeling overwhelmed with that grief. He got personal with this one, talking about the grief he felt after Mondatta’s passing. He advised the writer to reach out to family and friends, to build a support system among them so that anyone suffering after this loss could be caught and comforted, could be helped to continue taking steps forward until they found their feet for themselves again. 

“Death is rarely ever a kind thing. So few times we are given the chance to say all we wish to say, often we shoulder the regrets of not having admitted to some perceived slight or having said goodbye for the last time, but you cannot cling to those regrets or they will overburden you.” He finished with an older song about remembering a loved one. 

During a commercial break he got a text message with a short video attached from Genji. He opened it and his array shone bright as he heard his own voice coming over the radio in Genji’s car, who was grinning with a big thumbs-up. 

_ “Wonderful show tonight! That last letter had me tearing up!”  _ Genji said, _ “Can’t wait for the rest!” _

He chuckled, sending a smiley face back before returning to his chat with Hana for the rest of the show. However, as the night went on he received messages from the detective, all with videos attached. He didn’t open any of them, maintaining his professionalism, but he looked forward to them when he got home. 

“Have you ever been in love?” He asked his listeners, “I haven’t. I have felt the love of someone I hold dear, but not the romantic kind of love of someone you wish to hold at night. Or, I didn’t until recently.” He sighed wistfully, “I do not like getting personal on this show, my listeners, because this is for you, not for me, but I simply much share my joy with you. I’ve never felt like this before. For omnics, love can be a difficult thing to process, but I know myself. I can feel in every part of my being that these feelings are my own and I cherish them. Cherish the love you feel, my friends. Let it blossom and bloom within you and embrace it with everything you have. It may not work out, it may not be for the right person, but it is yours and that will never change.” He sent Hana a message, a song from an old album by an omnic artist, a controversial song at the time, having an omnic sing about love, but it was one of his favorites, “Love with all you are. Embrace your love and do not let anyone shame you for your love because love is pure and it brings warmth and love to the world around you.”

The night flooded with calls from omnics, all confessing their love for others and for themselves. His very soul shone brighter at the influx of love, the beauty of it, the emotion he could feel behind every call. 

Unfortunately, as every night, midnight came and the show drew to a close. He signed off and the feed cut. He flicked off the On Air sign and sighed. 

“What a beautiful night.”

He and Hana packed up for the night, chatting happily, her teasing him for his confession over the air. He simply laughed, walking with her to the front. 

“Ah, shit!” She hissed, looking at her phone, “I gotta go. Apparently my roommate’s family just showed up and they’re.... a whole situation.” She groaned and quickly signed off the clock, “I have to go.” She pressed a button, calling her roommate. 

“Drive safely, Hana.”

The phone was answered as Hana got to the door and she swore loudly. 

“I forgot to turn off the damn feed!” She turned to Zen, “It’s just a couple switches in my booth, it’ll be real obvious, can you get it for me? It’s not a problem for the other shows, it just annoys me.”

He smiled, “Of course, of course.” He knew what she meant. With the feed on, anyone who turned on the microphone in Zenyatta’s booth would interrupt whatever was on the air and broadcast. However, with his microphone off, nothing would happen. 

She waved as she ran off, yelling into her phone about something as the door closed behind her. 

Zenyatta and Eric chuckled together for a moment. 

“I’m going to review some of the letters I’ve received.” He told Eric, “Just let me know when you’re ready to leave.” 

Eric nodded, putting his headphones back in to listen to his podcast. 

Zenyatta chuckled and made his way back to his booth, making sure to avoid his mic until he turned off Hana’s equipment. 

He opened his briefcase, taking out the stack of letters he had within. He preferred picking from hand-written letters, though he tried to be fair in his choosing. He loved seeing different handwriting, how it matched the person writing it. 

He read about problems with love, with family, with friends, with themselves. He hated having to set letters aside, deciding not to answer them, but he could only choose two. 

He got a text from Hana, a selfie of her with her roommates father and godfather sitting in the living room, both of them laughing loudly. 

“Brigette is lucky I’m nice.” 

He knew that wasn’t true, that Hana loved her roommate’s family. They had practically adopted her as one of their own and she felt comfortable around them, enough so that he knew she had told a few stories of her military time. 

He also noticed that the picture sent featured a few more cats than he was sure apartments allowed, but he wasn’t going to say anything about that. 

He heard Eric’s voice raise outside and felt a happiness in his core. He loved being surrounded by people who cared about him. Eric was probably laughing at his podcast, laughing hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. 

He looked at the letter in his hands, signed by an anonymous writer. They wrote about their past loves and who they were sure they were until they met an omnic they’d fallen in love with. So rarely did he get letters from humans falling for his kind, he set it aside as a possible chosen letter. 

He thought to Genji. 

Could Genji be the writer? 

He flustered at the thought, Genji being brave enough to confess over his show but too shy to write his own name. It was too good to be true, but he still thought of it. He would advise the writer to share their feelings, as he always does. He would meet with Genji the next day, who would confess to him using his own words, paint a portrait of love. 

He chuckled to himself, waving a hand as if waving off the vision in his head. 

“Zenyatta?”

He paused and turned, expecting to see Eric standing there. He almost thought it was until he saw....

Blood. 

He froze, standing up quickly. 

He suddenly realized a few things. 

One: Eric resembled the victims of the killer almost to a tee. 

Two: The station was dreadfully empty. 

Three: The man in front of him could be none other than Bradley Garrett, the man obsessed with his show to the point of killing others. 

Garrett grinned, wiping his bloody hands on his pants to try to clean them. 

“It’s such an honor to finally meet you. I.... I listen to your show every night, I have for months now.” He spoke evenly, kindness in his eyes, “Have you.... have you heard of what I’ve done for you? For us?”

Slowly, he nodded. 

“That’s amazing.” He reached out for a handshake and Zenyatta hesitantly took it, “I did it all because of you! I got rid of everything I couldn’t love about myself and now I’m free of hate.” He giggled and went back to the door, dragging in a chair for himself, “Please, sit, I want to talk to you.”

Zenyatta sat again, carefully collecting his papers and setting them back in his briefcase. He could feel Garrett’s eyes on him, watching his every move. 

He was alone with a murderer.

Genji Shimada was many things. He was a detective, yes, but he was also a brother to an annoyingly stubborn man, a friend to an actual cowboy, and now friend to an amazing late-night radio show host. 

Zenyatta was incredible. He was smart, funny, kind, he gave everything he had to that radio show of his. Genji had listened to it a couple times since the case started, trying to learn more about the perpetrator, but he had a hard time imagining anyone twisting the words of that beautiful voice. Meeting him in person, hearing him declare that he was going to help with the case and basically demanding that Genji let him was an experience he’d never expected, but he didn’t regret acquiescing in the least. Zenyatta was brilliant, offering a perspective they never would’ve thought of. He brightened up whatever room he was in and it was almost impossible not to smile when he spoke. 

The case would be over soon but he didn’t want to stop seeing Zenyatta. They had the killer, they were going to talk to him and arrest him. They would finally put this to rest and then....

Well, what then?

He wanted so badly to keep Zenyatta in his life after this case. He was a beautiful person and brought joy with him wherever he went. 

He thought about it at he listened to the show. The first letter Zenyatta read was so cute, he remembered his first crush and how she would share her candy with him on the playground. 

The second letter made him think of home, of life after his father died. He took deep breaths, putting his hand to his wrist to feel his pulse. He was still alive and that’s what mattered. 

He decided to send Zenyatta a text, adding a short video to tell him just how much he loved the show. 

As the night went on he sent a few more, grinning at the thought of them giving Zenyatta some happiness. 

“This’s a robbery, put yer hands where I can see ‘em.”

He rolled his eyes and reached over, pushing the passenger side door open, “Get in, Jesse.”

Jesse laughed, sliding into the seat, “Aw, c’mon.” He paused, hearing Zenyatta’s voice on the radio, “Listening to your boyfriend?”

“Shut up, man.” He started up the engine, “We got patrol in the business district.”

Jesse buckled up and grinned, “Oh, that’s where Zenny works. Why don’t we stop by and take him home? You can give him a big smooch at the door and-“

He pushed Jesse’s face away from him, laughing, “You’re so weird!”

They headed out, Jesse making kissy noises every time Zenyatta said something over the radio, but the show ended soon enough and they went to casual conversation. 

“You ready for tomorrow? Zen agreed to come with us, but I’m nervous about taking him to meet this guy.” Jesse said, “After all, the man’s killing because of Zen’s show.”

“True, but he’s doing it as some sort of sacrifice, he doesn’t want to hurt Zen.” Genji answered, “If anything, Zen being there might calm the guy down long enough for us to grab him.”

They drifted into silence, slowly patrolling the area to keep an eye out for anything suspicious. However, this area tended to be quiet so they didn’t expect much. 

They drove around the radio station and saw Hana driving off, clearly angry at something. They shrugged it off since she wasn’t speeding or talking on the phone while driving and kept up their patrol. 

The night was calm, not a cloud in the sky, the moon shining bright. 

The show on the radio was turned down, just low enough for them to register the words and songs but not distracting. Neither of them cared about the show that followed Zenyatta’s, but it was simple enough to live with. It was all pre-recorded, a general music station that stuck to recent hits. 

An hour passed and suddenly the song their were half-listening to changed, a crackle and hiss of microphone feedback before Zenyatta’s voice suddenly returned. 

_ “Mister Garrett, why come to me like this? Surely this is dangerous for you.” _

A second voice answered, _ “I’d do anything to meet you, Master Zenyatta. You’re an inspiration, my inspiration. I had to meet you once it was all done.” _

Jesse grabbed the police radio and called in the incident, Genji looked around and pulled a not-so-legal U-turn to race back towards the station. 

_ “So, you’ve killed everything you hate about yourself. You made art with it. What now?”  _ Zenyatta asked. 

The second voice, Garrett, answered,  _ “I.... I have a place we can go. We’ll be safe. Once the police give up, we can go home. To the temple. You can show me the Iris and I can be one of you, like I know I’m meant to be.” _

_ “It has been a long time since I was in Nepal.”  _ Zenyatta told him,  _ “I did not leave favorably, I do not know if my brothers and sister would be happy to see me.” _

The answer to that was an angry growl and a loud slamming noise,  _ “They have to be! You are Tekhartha Zenyatta! If they won’t accept you I’ll make them!” _

“We have a hostage situation at the radio station, serial killer Bradley Garrett has taken Zenyatta into his custody.” Jesse said over the intercom, “Shimada and McCree approaching, requesting backup.”

_ “When would we leave, then? I fear I have a few things I would need to settle before returning home, people who would be upset if I just left.” _

Zenyatta was stalling. Genji’s heart raced, realizing Zenyatta had known he’d be listening. He was counting on him to show. 

_ “Settle? No, no, we have to leave soon. Those fucking detectives- they- no! No, we have to leave! I did this all for you. We have to go now!” _

He heard a shuffle of movement, a chair skidding, a loud thump as something his the microphone. 

_ “I- I would be glad to come with you tomorrow.”  _ Zenyatta said,  _ “I am expecting guests at home, though. A good friend is coming over for dinner. I expect he will arrive any minute and ask where I am.” _

The hint immediately clicked with Genji as he swerved back onto the main road towards the radio station. 

_ “You cook?” _ The awe in Garrett’s voice was obvious even over the microphone,  _ “That’s amazing. I knew you were incredible, so kind and caring. I knew you would understand my art, my sacrifices.” _

Genji slowed down as they approached the building, not wanting to alert Garrett that anything was wrong yet.

His heart wrenched at the sight illuminated by his headlights. The steps leading up to the doorway were splashed with paint, the buckets of which laid on the ground. Strung up and bloodied was Eric, his neck broken and face beaten. His wrists were tied to the top of the hand-railings on each staircase, his legs crumpled underneath him, his blood mixing with the paint on the ground. 

He heard Jesse quickly call in the update, “Arrived on scene, we have a victim, deceased. Victim is the radio station’s night guard, Zenyatta is inside alone with Perp.”

Genji reached into the center console, grabbing his personal phone and quickly shooting Zenyatta a text,  _ “I’m here! What did you make for dinner?” _

His heart nearly beat out of his chest as they stepped out of the car, Jesse grabbing his revolver and holstering it. They pulled on vests and protective gear, Zenyatta’s voice on the radio explaining something to Garrett. 

“Yer hyperventilating, Genji.” 

He froze, realizing he was. His head felt light and he grabbed the door of his car, forcing himself to breathe and fall into the moment. He was on duty. Inside the building was a man who has proven five times he can take a life without a care holding an innocent man hostage. 

He looked to Jesse, who nodded, holding the comm to his face, “Backup’s on the way. Perp is still in the building with Zenyatta. So far situation seems calm.”

Genji smiled a little to himself. Of course if anyone could keep a crazed murderer calm it would be Zenyatta. They would get him out of this, no one would get hurt and this man would be persecuted for his crimes. 

He was going to get Zenyatta out of this. 

They heard the sirens of others approaching, at least three cars by what he could hear. He prayed to whatever gods he could think of, to the Iris itself, that Garrett wouldn’t panic and hurt Zenyatta. He leaned into the front of the car, turning up the radio a little so he could hear the discussion. 

_ “It seems my friend is awaiting me.”  _ Zenyatta said,  _ “Will you accompany me outside, Mister Garrett?” _

The other cars came skidding to a halt, fellow officers coming out in their full gear. Genji and Jesse’s eyes immediately drew to the chief as he stepped out of his car. They caught his eye and he came stalking over, his usually angry face even worse. 

“Details, now.”

Genji snapped to attention, “Chief Reyes, Detective McCree and I only became aware of the situation because of Zenyatta. We listen to his radio station at night and stay on the channel when it’s over. Just before we called it in, Zenyatta came back on the air, talking with who he has called a Mr. Garrett, the main suspect for the recent case revolving around Zenyatta’s radio show.”

Reyes nodded, looking to the building, “This the security guard?”

Genji nodded, “Yes. He works the night shifts alone. He would’ve been the only person standing between the perp and Zenyatta. So far the situation hasn’t escalat-“

_ “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?” _

The scream echoed across the lot and everyone went silent as Genji dove into his car to turn the radio’s volume up. 

_ “Mister Garrett, please.” _ Zenyatta’s voice was steady as the microphone screeched with feedback, the sound of violent thudding echoing,  _ “There’s no need for this level of violence.” _

_ ”You betrayed me?” _ Garrett’s voice cracked as he spoke,  _ “I did everything for you and you betrayed me? Me!” _

Zenyatta’s voice stayed even as he answered,  _ “Come outside with me, Mister Garrett. No harm will come to you if you remain calm. Your actions can be forgiven if you seek redemption. You can be accepted into the Iris’ grace.” _

There was a commotion and the radio station suddenly went dead silence. The lot went quiet and everyone turned their ears to the building. 

Genji’s blood ran cold when he heard Garrett shouting inside. There was crashing and the sound of things being shoved out of place. Zenyatta’s voice was never audible but it was clear Garrett was still fighting with him. The voice got louder until the doors finally burst open, Garrett shoving Zenyatta into the open air. 

“You wanted to go outside so bad!” Garrett screeched and grabbed Zenyatta by one of the struts of his neck, putting a gun against his head, “We’re outside!”

Zenyatta didn’t respond, frozen where he stood. Genji stepped forward, showing his empty hands as McCree took aim behind him. 

“Bradley Garrett?” He called, “I’m Detective Genji Shimada. Why don’t you put down the gun and let us talk about this?”

Garrett bared his teeth, “Not a step closer, cop! I’ll blast this bucket of bolts to pieces! Tell your buddies to put down their weapons!”

Genji waved a hand and he heard the sound of people standing down. He looked back and saw McCree holster his revolver, his hand perfectly still. He’d stepped out from behind the door of the car. To anyone else, he was just tense from the situation. To those who had worked with him, he was waiting for his moment. 

Garrett was shaking, his gun clinking against the metal of Zenyatta’s faceplate. Zenyatta was clearly trying to not seem like a threat, his hands lifted enough for Garrett so see them, to know he wasn’t doing anything. 

“We got your notes.” Genji said, “You were very meticulous in your.... artistry.”

“Shut up!” Garrett screamed, “You can’t distract me with things you can’t understand!”

“Can’t I?” Genji asked, “You made sacrifices to someone you craved the love of. You gave of yourself, carving away the imperfections so you could present a perfect gift.”

Garrett huffed, glaring as he shifted from foot to foot, shaken. 

“You can redeem yourself, Garrett. You can remake yourself into something worth more than what you thought was expected of you.” Genji held out his hands, “Just let me help you.”

Garrett hesitated, breathing heavy in his rage, “No.... no! I won’t go to jail! I did what was instructed of me!” He shoved Zenyatta, forcing him to come down the stairs. He was using Zenyatta as a shield, willing to sacrifice who he once looked up to for his own freedom, “You want this robot back without a bullet hole you’re gonna give me a car! You want him you gotta let me go! I’ll take him and leave him outside of town to walk back!”

Genji nodded, “Of course.” He waved his hands, “I’m going to get my keys from my pocket. You can have my car. I’ll warn you, the AC is a little finicky.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, but Garrett stopped him. 

“No!” He moved and shot the ground in front of Genji before moving the barrel back to Zenyatta’s head, “No, I don’t want yours! I- I want his!” He gestured go Genji’s left. He looked, seeing Reyes standing there, glaring. 

Reyes didn’t hesitate, pulling his keys from his pocket and tossing them over, landing them perfectly in front of Zenyatta. He turned and waved his hand, the officers near his car moving away. 

Genji looked back to Garrett, “Alright, you’ve got your keys.”

Garrett let go of Zenyatta’s neck but kept the gun to his head, “Grab them.”

Zenyatta slowly knelt down, taking the keys in his hands. 

A shot rang out. 

Genji flew forward, filled with a panic he hadn’t felt in years, not since he was a child. He crossed the lot, falling to his knees and skidding across the gravel to catch Zenyatta in his arms, wrapping himself around him. 

“Genji.” Zenyatta whispered and grabbed his face in his hands, “Genji, Genji, Genji, Genji.”

“I’ve got you.” Genji panted, “I’ve got you, Zen. I’ll never let you go, fuck, I’ll never let you go.”

Footsteps pounded around them and they sat up, watching as Garrett was dragged away, screaming and grabbing his leg. McCree picked up Garrett’s gun, huffing. 

“Thanks for that shot, Zen.” 

Zenyatta looked up, “Wh-what?”

Genji rolled his eyes as Jesse spun his gun, showing off, “You bent down and gave me the shot I needed. Got ‘im right in behind the knee. He’ll need some rehabilitation but he’ll probably even walk again.”

Zenyatta raised a hand to his head, as if only now processing that he hadn’t been shot. He looked from Jesse to Genji and threw his arms around Genji’s shoulders. 

“Thank you!”

Genji grinned and hugged him tight, “I gotcha, Zen. Let it all out.”

He pulled back, “I knew you would be listening. I knew it. If anyone could save me it would be you. Oh, Genji.” He grabbed him by the face and pulled him in, pressing his mouthpiece against Genji’s lips, sparking wild energy against his mouth. 

Genji froze in shock for a moment before wrapping his arms around Zenyatta, returning the kiss with vigor. He didn’t even care that he heard Jesse cough or that they were very much visible to nearly everyone he worked with. 

Zenyatta pulled away first, leaving Genji’s lips tingling with the omnic energy that had danced over them. They stood together, Genji pulling off his jacket to wrap it around Zenyatta’s shoulders. 

“Poor Eric.” Zenyatta whispered as they left, though he didn’t look back at where the body sat, “I would like to leave, please.”

Reyes drove him back to the precinct. 

“My dear listeners, I would like to tell you about myself. Before coming to this city I was a wondering monk, an omnic follower of the Shambali. I live my life guided by the Iris, but it does not reveal all to me simply because I ask. Life is never so easy. I left my home in Nepal after the death of my teacher and friend, Tekhartha Mondatta. I gave up my own title as Tekhartha to travel the world and find meaning in a world without the person who taught me how to live. It was a long struggle, but I eventually found meaning in helping those I met along my journey. When I came here, I did not expect to be here long. Certainly not long enough to start calling this city home, but it seems that the Iris has different intentions for me. 

“Eight days ago I interrupted this station’s nightly broadcast in a distress call, trusting that those who saved my life would hear. I do not claim that their intervention was by some divine right, nor to I claim that it was not. I claim it was an act of trust and love between living beings, people who know that the others would come to their aid in a time of need. 

“I will continue to do this show for you, my dear listeners. I will be here to laugh and cry with you, to offer my advice and love to you. I will leave you with this tonight, my friends.

“Take the time to organize something in your home. For my humans listeners, try your pantry. For my omnic listeners, untangle those wire. I know they’re tangled, do not try to lie to me. Dedicate time to cleaning something personal, something that is yours that you need on a daily basis. 

“Cook something you haven’t cooked in a long time. If you haven’t cooked before, ask a friend to teach you a family recipe. I recently cooked an old recipe for dear friends again. I got dough stuck in my joints and I burned most of it, but the joy of cooking for friends, with friends, is an incredible thing.

“Love yourself. This is the most difficult piece of advice I can give, but the most important. Not in spite of your flaws, but with them. Seek help for flaws that you want to fix, do not face them alone. Love who you are and what has made you that way and if you cannot find the will to do so, I promise someone around you will. 

“Midnight approaches, my listeners, and so I must leave you for tonight. I will return to you tomorrow to hear your stories. Go and be at peace.”

The feed cut and Zenyatta looked up to the window. Hana smiled at him, giving a thumb’s up as she shut off her equipment. He powered off his own feed, turning off the On Air sign. 

They stepped out and Hana smiled again, pulling him in for a hug. 

“That second batch of momos were good.” She said, “We won’t talk about the first one.”

He laughed and gently pushed her off. He wouldn’t tell her about the few batches he’d destroyed at home before that first batch she saw. 

They walked together to the exit, waving to the new trio of security guards. They paused at the photo of Eric on the wall, both silent before they continued outside. 

“Put your hands up, this is the police.”

Zenyatta chuckled, lifting his hands, “Oh, my.”

Hana rolled her eyes as Genji grinned, holding up his fingergun. 

“Tekhartha Zenyatta, you’re under arrest.”

“Oh?” He said, “What are the charges, officer?”

“Stealing my heart.”

Hana gagged loudly, “Ugh! You’re so disgustingly cute.” She hopped down the stairs and waved, “I’m going home.”

Genji chuckled, taking Zenyatta’s hand in his own as he came down the steps, “Be safe, Hana.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here, Detective Loverboy and take your man home.”

They watched Hana drive off and made their way to Genji’s car. Zenyatta waited on the passenger side for Genji to unlock the doors, but paused when something caught his eye. He looked back to the building, to the stairs. He slowly approached, noting how the paint where Eric had been had been covered. He continued his approach though, to the new handrails.

“Zenyatta?”

He reached out, dimming his array so as not to scare the giant yellow moth that climbed onto his finger. His core felt tight and then exploded with a warmth that was so clearly the Iris. The moth took off, flying away and taking the golden feeling with it. 

“Zen, what was that?” Genji asked, coming up behind him. 

“A blessing.” Zenyatta answered and turned back to him, “Let’s go home.”


End file.
